Only We Know
by nlizzette7
Summary: "She stroked down his cheek with the back of her palm, and they both closed their eyes, savored the feel of heat against ice. Her blush kissed the paleness of him." / CB, AU inspired by Disney's Frozen.


**only we know.**

chuck x blair. /** pg-13.**

_here I'll stand, and here I'll stay. _**Written for Moo, who came up with my spirit prompt: CB + Do you want to build a snowman?**

* * *

On a Sunday morning, Queen Elizabeth Bass was found frozen to death in the pool of a little boy's tears, the blurred image of raven hair and the bow-tie she'd just straightened reflected in her stone black eyes.

On a Sunday morning, her son, Prince Charles Bass of Hatten reached into chest and froze his own heart.

There was no one left in the world to love a boy who whispered ice.

* * *

A year after Chuck killed his own mother – went to give her a hug and froze her from the inside out – he turned twelve years old all alone, staring at the finishes of his grand ceiling, sinking his fingers into his bed sheets until they all crumpled into a hard, singular sheet of ice.

The boy clenched his jaw, let out a crisp breath, and watched the huff of chilled smoke dance in the air above his face and fall back onto his cheeks in a miniature cloud of snow. Chuck blinked, swiped a flake from his eyelash.

_Knock._

Chuck sat up in bed much too quickly, and the ice shattered beneath him. He'd already had his afternoon éclairs, and his father came by only when he needed to be reminded of the monstrosity he had for a son – which was never too often. Chuck cocked his head, waited for another knock, his fine blue coats pooling all around his legs, a stark contrast to the mop of black hair on his head, the glint of his dark eyes.

_Knock_.

He cleared his throat. "Who's there?"

The words were too raspy, clearly the voice of a boy who was never spoken to.

He heard a small hand scrape the other side of the wood, then the girlish clearing of a throat.

"It's your…friend, Blair," came a whisper. "You must remember me. We used to trick all of the commoners who came to court. We once misplaced your father's crown in his sleep because he was bothering you so much about your piano lessons. We have schemed together and pretended to conquer the castle – "

While she spoke, Chuck carefully stepped towards the door, made the mistake of pressing his hands against it when he knelt down. Ice cracked against the wood before he quickly drew away.

"Chuck, I can hear you breathing through the door – really. I haven't got all day."

Chuck looked through the door's peephole, choked on his breath when he caught a flash of brown ringlets, a silky lilac dress, the familiar wicked smile he'd catch when he and the little Lady Waldorf used to race through the castle's halls. Even before the accident, Chuck hadn't had many friends. He'd walked around in his royal coats, made the maidens who came to visit around the castle blush, had played the piano until the keys began to freeze still under his touch.

But there was one girl, the daughter of a countess who was very close to the queen, who kept him company when he was forced out of the king's way, who lived in a lavender-soaked room on the other side of the castle.

Her mother, Eleanor Waldorf, was without doubt a royal climber, but Chuck didn't mind much. Not if it granted him access to Blair's subtle whispers at dinner, when she'd shoot down the snobby cook, and Chuck would smirk, grin into his napkin –

Tremble at the way her shallow breath felt on his neck.

"Chuck," Blair murmured, snapping the boy back to the present. "Where have you been?"

_Here_, he mouthed to the wall.

"I could have Dorota fix us hot chocolates, or we could build a snowman, the way your mother used to make them," Blair whispered before her cheeks brightened red. "I mean…it sounds _juvenile_, but, I thought – "

Chuck parted his lips, pressed his hand to the door and wished he could feel how hot her skin was – as if he would _ever_ be able to feel it.

"Things have been so different." Blair glanced at the wall as she spoke, knotted and unknotted the bow in her hair to perfection. "No one will tell me why the castle feels colder, why you never leave your room – " Blair gave a sigh. "Where your mother – where the queen has gone."

Chuck cringed, his fingers poised over the doorknob.

_She'll hate you, _his father had promised, lips curled into a snarl. _Everyone will hate you if they see._

_I am only teaching you to protect yourself._

His hand dropped, his jaw set.

"Go away, Blair."

"…What?" She thought he couldn't see, so she let her guard down, let hurt color her delicate features.

It was quickly replaced by rage. "How _dare _you treat me that way after all this time? As if…as if I were some commoner who you could look down your nose at."

"Relax, Lady Waldorf," Chuck said, mustering up as much meanness as he could. His fists clenched against the hardwood. "Remember that most friendships here in the kingdom are about as fleeting as my patience." His breath caught in his throat before he rasped, "Things tend to grow rather boring inside of these walls."

He paused, she held her breath.

Chuck forced out, "Just as you are boring me right now."

Blair let out a low gasp, shot up, rolled her shoulders back. "I _hate _you."

"_Good_," Chuck hissed. "Hate me. Despise me – just…" His hand slammed against one of the wooden panels in his rage, and a _boom _sounded across the silence. Blair might have yelled out then, but Chuck wasn't sure. He was too focused on the shard of ice that had just wedged a crack in the wood, an intricate pattern of frost dancing across the dull brown.

Chuck stepped back, clawed at his own hands in pain.

"…just stay away," Chuck finished in a whisper.

But it didn't matter.

Blair was already gone.

* * *

Hours later, Chuck stared at his ceiling, brushed his thumb over the tip of his middle finger and surfaced with a ball of ice. It slipped through his fingers, down the back of his hand, until he crushed it in one fist and let it smash against the wall.

Over and over again, the jolt of fear he'd caught in Blair's eyes blurred into the memory of his mother's startled face.

That is, until he heard the light pelt of footsteps against wood sound across the silence before stopping right in front of his door. Chuck held his breath, waited for the shadow to move again, but the figure only slid down against his door, seemed to curl up right at the base of it.

Outside, Blair Waldorf had dragged her blankets and pillows to the inch of carpet that met the entrance to Chuck's room. She curled up there, thought of the catch in his breath when he'd broken the door with all of that ice. Chuck Bass, the mischievous little prince who was not to be trusted – he'd sounded _afraid_.

On the other side of the wall, from his bed, Chuck whispered, "Blair?"

He rolled out of bed, took two hesitant steps towards the door. And sure enough, when he glanced down the keyhole, he caught a mop of brown curls and a pile of lavender pillows. The girl with porcelain skin slept soundly, lips parted, clutching a small toy in her fist.

A wooden prince with dark hair.

A cloak the color of ice.

Chuck didn't hesitate a moment before yanking his own silk sheets from his bed, dropping his pillow where hers was on the other side of the door, and they slept that way well into the morning, Chuck's knuckles brushing the wood, Blair's hand flat against the door.

_Warmth._

He dreamt only of warmth.

* * *

It carried on this way for a straight month.

At first, they said nothing about the late night visits. It was only when the countess began to send Dorota to drag the girl back to her side of the castle that Chuck got desperate. He began to _talk _to her, whisper snarky jokes against the wall, his heart holding for a beat until she replied with a muffled giggle. They grew older, Blair slyer, Chuck more handsome and dastardly still. They no longer needed those nights, sleeping against wood, for they had whole days now – days when she'd dodge her mother's insistence that she attend balls with the visiting noblemen and princes, claw her fingers into cloaks until they dragged her to the throne.

But well into her preteen years, Blair found herself done with fireside waltzes.

She clawed into ice instead.

"Bass," she'd knock every morning for two years.

"Waldorf," he'd call back.

"Do you know that I caught your favorite carriage man scrawling doodles on a stolen scroll?"

Chuck tipped his head back and grinned with mischief, savoring the sound of her voice. "Did you?"

He could hear her smile when she replied, "It's true."

"Do you ever let people be, Waldorf?"

"Do you, Bass?" When Chuck only laughed, Blair continued, "Don't you want to know what he was drawing?" Blair bit her lip, and he chuckled, the sound of it reverberating against the floor. "He was sketching a rather robust matron, one who just so happens to comb my hair and prepare my baths."

Chuck raised a brow. "Arthur and _Dorota_?"

"Your carriage man and my lady-in-waiting," Blair smirked. "Fate does like to toy with people…" The girl trailed off, traced idle patterns against the door, the way she imagined the curve of his lips, the sweep of his black hair. "Doesn't it?"

"I wouldn't exactly call Arthur my carriage driver," came Chuck's murmured response. He forced indifference into his voice. "My escapades happen to be more localized."

"Of course." Blair rolled her eyes. "Unless you decided to step outside…"

"Blair," Chuck warned.

"…make good on that snowman," Blair goaded, mocking their twelve year old selves. "You must be exhausted in there by now, all sarcastic and obnoxious with your own one-liners."

"I'll never be exhausted with myself," Chuck smirked, a futile attempt to change the subject.

"But if you'd just come outside, Chuck," Blair tried again, her voice suddenly desperate. "If you'd just tell me why you were hiding, why your father only lets the servants and your tutor in…" Blair toyed with the jewels in her curls, shifted from one knee to the other. "If you'd only let me see you – "

"And then what, Blair?" Chuck spat.

"And then this _thing_ between us – "

"Thing?" Chuck echoed. "Don't delude yourself. If you're waiting for a prince to carry you off into the sunset, look elsewhere." He clenched his fists, snapped at the wall, "Behind these castle walls, there is nothing but death as a king and his nuisance of an heir. Happiness does not seem to be on the menu for - "

"Don't delude _your_self, Charles," Blair replied evenly, standing up as well. "I have never been fooled, especially not by you. Everyday, beautiful spring or crisp winter, I come to sit in this dark hallway, with you. For hours, while the rest of the world is moving on, I'm stuck with you in this standstill because I'd prefer nothing else. I hear the way you leap from your bed when I knock. I remember the way you used to look at me, the way you speak to me now."

Chuck raised his fist to his chest, clawed at his heart.

It wouldn't beat.

_He might die, loving her this way._

"So tell me, Chuck," Blair whispered, so close to the door that her nose brushed it when she spoke. "Tell me to go, if that's what you wish. You will never hear my fist at your door again."

Chuck squared his jaw. "I can't do that."

"Then let me in," Blair cried. A tear slipped down her reddened cheek, and she caught it with a choked gasp. "I have seen what you can do, and I am _not _afraid." Blair pressed her tear-soaked palm to the door. "_I_ am the countess's daughter, and I will _not_ let this go."

"You've seen, Blair," Chuck said. "But you don't understand."

"You can't hurt me," Blair replied.

She faltered, her breath catching, and Chuck backed away. He could practically hear the wheels turning in her mind. It was what he liked most about her, how smart she was, how she teased him with facts she knew better than he did. "You can't…" On the other side of the door, Blair pressed the same palm to her lips, tasting salt. "Oh, Chuck. Your mother – "

"What's going on here?"

Chuck frowned, dropped to his knees and cringed when he saw the king standing over Blair, his thin shadow cloaking every ounce of the light she brought.

"She was just going, father," came Chuck's muffled call.

Blair crossed her arms in front of her chest, didn't budge.

"I suggest," King Bart said, "that you go, Lady Blair. You are young and naïve, and this is no place for you."

"And yet it's a place for your own son?"

"A mouth like yours," the king hissed, taking a step forward, "will put both you and the countess in a very comprising position, Blair. The castle has seemed quite overcrowded recently."

"I won't allow you to make her leave," Chuck said. And Blair, though her chin was tilted high at the king, edged towards the door in support. She flattened her palm against the wood, and Chuck touched his to it as well.

"Do you know what happens to children who forget their place?" Bart said suddenly, grasping Blair's chin. Chuck grasped the doorknob, but it was jammed shut. As he jiggled, it cracked, whined in the crunch of metal and ice.

"Do you know what happens to kings without hearts?" Blair retorted. "They rise too high. They go too far. They lose their heads and die alone. Chuck is the only person keeping you alive, your grace. Chuck is the only decent thing about you."

"That boy is a murderer."

"_You _are the murderer," Blair said. "You're _killing _him. But, that's what you're good at, isn't it? Turning people into ghosts?"

"Guards," the king called, and Chuck groaned in his effort to shove open the door. But rather than make any progress, the knob fell from its screw, leaving him even more trapped than he'd just been. Ice and melting snow pooled on the ground. He cursed under his breath, listened as Blair cried for help.

"Chuck, help me," she breathed. "_Get your hands off of me – don't you know who I am?_ …Chuck, please."

She struggled, and Chuck shut his eyes, banged against the door.

"Don't touch her," he shouted, listened to heavier footsteps barrel down the hall. Her voice died off until the hall's doors slammed shut, and Blair was just a whisper in the distance, closer to the sun than she would ever be to him. Chuck cursed again, dropped to the ground.

And then, the knob on the door's other side clicked.

And it opened.

The king stood in front of him, and Chuck could see his same cut jaw, the same coldness he felt inside. Of course he'd been born of ice. Bart was the king of it.

"You take me for a fool?" Bart asked. "You forget who rules Hatten?"

Chuck scowled, caught sight of a lavender ribbon by Bart's foot and gathered it in his palm before standing up. He said, "She was all I had."

"We can't risk a higher death toll over your hormones, Charles," the king said. "And if she were to know what you have done – "

"She knows," Chuck said. "And she wants me still. Not the way your wife couldn't look at you after the sort of king you became." The boy stepped up to his father. "If you hurt her, I will kill you."

But the king only smiled, bitter and biting, clutched hard at the door. "Like you killed your mother?"

And then he slammed the door shut, leaving Chuck with the only piece of Blair he had left.

* * *

Two years.

They thought of one another every day, Blair with her toy soldier resting on her opposite pillow, Chuck with the frayed piece of purple silk wound around his knuckles. She grew older, more desirable, and after being chastised by her mother, Blair became the object of the king's constant gaze to keep their status steady.

To keep her close to Chuck.

Blair attended breakfasts, balls, garden outings, felt Bart's eyes trail from the nape of her neck down her spine. She bit her scowl of disgust away and bore it, daydreamed of dancing with her prince in a globe of snow, touching the curve of his shoulder, hearing that voice of his against her ear rather than as a muffled whisper through a locked door.

But it was impossible.

Guards were stationed at the prince's door from dawn until dusk. Chuck spent his time tapping at window sills with gloved hands now, and when he turned sixteen, the anger inside of him was so full and looming that he could crack the glass with one touch. Maidens came to clean his room, and he flirted with them with nonchalance, thought of brown curls and pink smiles while he did.

Not a lady in the kingdom compared to his.

But house guards were always fickle men, and Blair was as beautiful as they came when she hit sixteen. She'd been waiting months for this moment, sometime around midnight, when one of the younger guards was dozing off by the prince's door. Blair stuck one of her pins into the hall's padlock, slipped in through the doors and found him stationed at Chuck's doorway with a sword in his hands.

"Help," Blair whispered into the dark. "I need help."

The guard snapped to attention. "Lady Blair? What are you doing out of your chambers so late?"

"Oh, there was a frightening howl that came from the ballroom," Blair sighed, pressing a hand to her chest. "I simply cannot sleep without knowing that it was just the wind."

The guard frowned. "Lady Blair, there are many other guards – "

Blair pasted a smile on her lips. "Oh, but not with your brawn, your bravery." Blair batted her lashes. "I've heard of your strength, you know."

The guard stood up straighter. "Really?"

"Really," Blair affirmed. "It simply must be you, sir…"

"Nathaniel."

"Nathaniel," Blair repeated. "You wouldn't leave the countess's daughter in such danger, would you?"

"No…" Nathaniel frowned. "I suppose not." He shot a glance at Chuck's door, and Blair bit the inside of her cheek. But finally, he started down the hall, smiling at her as he went.

"I'll return shortly, Lady Blair," he said, striding right past the broken padlock. "Not to worry."

And when he was gone, Blair smirked and whispered, "I never do." She took a deep breath, fixed her hair before knocking on the door, though she knew Chuck couldn't see. And then she called out, "Chuck?"

The footsteps on the other side matched the drum of her heartbeat, and when they stopped, a deep voice replied, "Blair, is that…?"

"Chuck," she sighed, leaning against the door.

"I'm not hearing voices," Chuck smirked, but the rush of excitement he felt betrayed him. "That's really the stubborn girl who owns my heart?"

Blair flushed, smiled. "Yes."

"And you…"

"I fooled the guard into letting me by," Blair laughed.

"Of course," Chuck smiled with pride. "Blair – " His voice cracked, and he stopped himself, gathering his night robes. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you," Blair echoed. "No one understands my insults," she huffed in addition. "I've been parading around with idiot princes and noblemen…"

Chuck pursed his lips. "Have you?"

Blair bit her lip. "Is that jealousy I hear, Bass?"

He chuckled. "You know me too well, Blair." He paused, pressed his forehead to the door. "Tell me, have they touched you? Has it been the same as the press of your body against the wood, the heat you bring me every time you're so near? " He swallowed, and Blair reddened. "Have they kissed you like I would if I weren't…"

Blair felt heat in her stomach, and her knees weakened. "I haven't been kissed." She amended, "I refuse to be kissed by a man who is not you."

Chuck closed his eyes, slid his hand to the doorknob. "Blair, the door is unlocked."

Blair drew back, eyes wide. "What?"

"There hasn't been any need, with all of the guards, with my extra tutors coming and going," Chuck rasped. "The king underestimated your wit, your…cleverness. And it was to my benefit." He smoothed his thumb over the gold knob. "I never thought – I never imagined hearing your voice again."

Blair held her breath. "Chuck, will you let me in?"

Chuck glanced down at his hand on the knob, felt no crisp rush of cold, felt no icy burn. But still, he hesitated. "Blair, you have no idea what you're asking – no idea what I am capable of doing."

"Open the door," Blair insisted, her hand sliding down to the knob as well.

For a moment, it was the world that froze and heat rushed through his veins, jumpstarted his pulse. They turned the knob at the same time, achingly slow; she pushed as he pulled –

"_Alert the prince, wake the castle!"_

Blair let go of the knob, stumbled away as a swarm of guards and servants rushed down the hall. Had somebody found out? Had that airy-headed guard given her away, or…

"_The king is dead."_

The noise, the repetition of that single sentence, was deafening. Blair sank back, pressed her hands to the wall opposite the door, felt an arm around her shoulder as the guards burst into Chuck's room, counselors and lords following them in. It was Dorota who held Blair under her arm as the younger girl's throat went dry. Chuck was ushered out of the room, lips parted, black hair a mess atop his head.

"Chuck," Blair mouthed, reaching out, hands sliding down his overcoat, the silk scarf that hung around his neck. But his eyes were empty, his lips promised nothing, and she held onto his scarf, keeping it with her as the prince was ushered away.

"Lady Blair?" Dorota asked, giving her a small shake. "You are in shock, come. We must mourn the king's death."

Blair squeezed her eyes shut as Dorota led her away. "The king is very much alive, Dorota. And I have lost him again."

* * *

The funeral procession was a grand to-do, but the entire city seemed to sleep under a shadow now. The countess wore a black cloak at all times, held a sudden fascination with the new king's whereabouts, talked on and on about the entire debacle, the kingdom without a ruler, as Blair chewed on dry food, stared at blank walls.

All the thawing she'd done on Chuck's heart –

It was ruined now. She could feel it, though she hadn't spoken to him in days, that something in the castle was broken beyond repair.

And on a snowy afternoon, she went to see if it was true.

"Chuck?" Blair knocked, gripping her noir coat tighter, lifting the hem of her dress. She did not hear footsteps, did not see anything but frost coating the outside of the door. "Chuck, please."

There was so reply.

"Chuck, it's your friend…Blair," she murmured, echoing her twelve year old self. "It's the girl who owns your heart, who accepts your skin, as cold as it may be." She was crying now, hushed sobs into her palm. "None of this is your fault, Chuck. It's your time, to show the kingdom that laugh I know so well, the smartest man I've ever spoken to – " Blair released a breath. "We could go outside, we could build that snowman, or – "

"Blair," came a voice so cold that Blair felt it in her bones. "Stop."

Blair sighed, reached for the doorknob. "Chuck, what are we going to do?" She paused when she heard the telltale click of a lock from the other side, a different king – the same decision. Blair frowned, turned at the knob until her wrist was tired.

"Chuck?"

And then it came.

Words colder than his hands could ever be.

"There is no _we_."

* * *

Hours later, Chuck sat in his snowy bedroom, the door now off its hinges, his bureau iced over, his bed a sheet of hard ice. Snow flakes fell from all corners, and he sat by his window, his head in his hands.

Outside, a girl piled snow on top of snow.

Blair worked for an hour straight, until a man of three parts was made, a carrot from the kitchen stuck in his face as a makeshift nose. Chuck watched, his mouth in a straight line, imagining the furious _hmph_s she must have been making, aching to join her as she worked.

_Do you know what happens to kings without hearts? _he remembered Blair saying. Ice, in a haze of blinding white, shot out from his palm. _They rise too high. They go too far. They lose their heads and die alone._

Chuck paused, drawing the curtains closed.

Outside, Blair wrapped the scarf around the snowman's neck before trekking inside.

* * *

"Blair, sit still."

"I'll sit still when you stop yanking at my hair as if it were straw," Blair hissed. "Honestly, Serena."

The blonde, a visiting princess from Westend who Blair had grown quite fond of over the years, rolled her eyes and passed the silver comb more gently through Blair's curls. "I'm going to forgive you because I know how excited you are to see – "

"The _ball_," Blair cut in. "I'm excited to attend the ball, wear my new gown, dance with handsome suitors all night." Blair narrowed her eyes, pinched some color into her cheeks.

"Dance with King Charles," Serena coughed with a small smile. Dorota, who was laying out Blair's dress, smiled as well.

"Quit eavesdropping," Blair hissed, slapping Serena's hands away from her hair. But her hostility fizzled as she tucked strands atop her head, pinning and winding her curls to perfection. Nervousness wrapped its hands around her pale throat and tightened. Her hands trembled as she set her brush down, smoothed the front of her corset again and again until it could get no straighter.

She caught Serena's eye in the mirror, and the blonde smiled.

"It's been two years since the king died," Blair said rather quietly. "All he's done is sit in his chambers, far away from me. Things might have changed." She shook her head. "Things _have _changed."

Serena sat at the girl's side. "Do you know what the future king's counselor told me?"

Blair raised a brow.

"When asked what princesses or noble ladies Charles wished to court tonight, he told them to invite none," Serena grinned, squeezing Blair's shoulders. "He claims he already has his sights set on a countess's daughter."

Blair bit the inside of her cheek.

Serena held either side of Blair's face, kissed the girl on the forehead.

"He's in love with you, Blair," Serena promised. "In him you have touched what no one else will ever be able to."

Blair nodded, smiled at her reflection, squeezed her toy prince until it left a mark on her skin.

* * *

"Introducing, Charles Bartholomew the Third, King of East Hatten."

Blair watched as Chuck rose at the head of the crowd, the low hum of the guests filling the ballroom to capacity. Girls stood on their toes to see him, gentlemen bowed with respect. Blair stood just as enamored as she'd been six years ago, when he'd chase her down those castle halls, one always following the other.

His hair was even darker than before, his lips curled in a smile though his gloved hands were twitching at his sides. He was clean shaven, eyes wicked as they scanned the room. Chuck pressed his thumb into his side, then grinned at the crowd. And finally, he caught her gaze and stood up straighter, face brightening as he took in her lilac dress, the brown tendrils framing her cheeks.

He winked at her, so subtly it might not have happened at all.

And then he said, "Enjoy, all. I am not a king without my court."

"Or his queen," Serena whispered into Blair's ear with a giggle.

Blair laughed into her hand, then shot her friend an admonishing glare. Chuck had already busied himself with conversations down a line of other royals, smirking and sweet-talking, all while he kept his hands in fists, bunched up at his back. And every so often, he snuck a glance at Blair, lifted the corner of his lips.

It wasn't until the excitement of the ball had died down that Blair went to rest by a table of desserts, placing a macaroon onto the center of her little plate.

"Lady Blair."

Blair smiled at her plate. "You're speaking to _me_?"

"No," Chuck smirked. "The other countess's daughter. She's left quite the impression on me."

"You're still terrible," Blair stated, finally turning to look at him. He smiled, that devastating grin of his, and she smiled back. "Hello."

"You look ravishing."

"And you," Blair said honestly, "look like a true king."

"It's a shame then," Chuck murmured, taking a step closer, one gloved hand taking the plate and setting it back on the table. She felt him working at the fabric by her back, realized that he was tying an old lavender ribbon to the hook of her dress. The one he'd kept, all this time. "That you've been wasting your dances with frogs all night."

Blair's breath caught, and she set her hands on the table to steady herself. "And you haven't danced at all."

His breath washed over the nape of her neck, sending a chill across her skin. "Come with me, Blair."

And she did.

They found a secret corner outside the ballroom, where bricks dripped into the garden outside. He stood near her, by a shroud of ivy and peonies. Though it was a summer night, a winter wind hugged them close.

"I have thought about this moment everyday," Chuck murmured, staring down at the birthmark by her elbow, "for six years."

Blair reached up, her hands shaking, vaguely aware that his hands were still behind his back. She stroked down his cheek with the back of her palm, and they both closed their eyes, savored the feel of heat against ice. Her blush kissed the paleness of him.

She whispered, "It isn't so bad, is it? To be touched?"

"I never worried about your touch," Chuck rasped.

"You can't hurt me," Blair promised, reaching forward to brush her nose against his cheek. She skimmed the tips of her fingers down his arm, holding his gaze until she reached his wrist. He frowned, began to jerk back when she found his naked wrist. But it was too late; the silk glove had come off.

Chuck slammed his hand back against the wall. The peonies froze over, wilting before falling from their stems.

Blair held firm, squeezing the glove in her fist.

"Are you _insane_?" Chuck held his hand in his other palm. "Haven't I warned you? Has this not been the one thing standing between us all this time?"

"I'm not afraid of you," Blair breathed.

"But I am," Chuck snapped. "There is nothing I hate about myself more than these hands. They are the only things I possess that are capable of hurting you."

"Try," Blair whispered. "Touch me."

His look was incredulous. "Am I indulging your death wish, Waldorf?"

"I don't think you're as dangerous as your father made you believe you were," Blair said. "You were so young. So full of joy and mischief." Blair stepped forward, pressed her hands to his shoulders. "In a rush to show your mother the wonderful things you could do, the way you can call winter with your palms, you made a mistake."

"That's not – "

"She understands, wherever she may be," Blair said into the curve of his neck. "Your mother loved you, she still loves you, but you have to understand that you were young, and your father was too cruel. The ice in you must come from what he put in himself. No one was prepared for what you can do, Chuck."

He stared at her, breathless.

"But I am," Blair urged. "I don't care if your hand in mine is the last thing I ever feel. You won't take this away from me." Her hand slid down again, and Chuck parted his lips in protest as she backed him against the wall. "I don't care if you're the last person I ever touch."

Blair took his bare hand in hers. "That would be enough."

And then she kissed him.

Chuck felt the ice, the cold, the odd sensation of it mingling with Blair's warm breath on his lower lip, her flushed chest pressing against his royal garbs. There might have been pain as his hand frosted over hers, but she dulled it all, gripped the nape of his neck with her other hand and trailed her fingers down the hair there as she parted her lips against his again and again.

He waited for her breath to stop.

For her skin to chill.

He pulled away, held her at arm's length. Blair's skin was not blue, nor were her eyes glossed over. Instead, she giggled as snowflakes fell, and she stuck her tongue out to catch one. The ball went on inside, but Chuck had just trapped them in a miniature snowfall.

Her hand was still warm in his.

"I didn't – "

Blair smiled. "No. As always, I am right."

Chuck smirked. "Blair, if I had known…"

"You know now, my king," Blair whispered against his chin, eyes alight with excitement. "I am still the stubborn girl who owns your heart." She smiled. "We're safe, with each other."

And as she tilted her chin up to him, Chuck finally understood.

_The answer_, he thought as he swiped his tongue over her lips, drew her near, _had always been her_.

* * *

There was ice on his tongue.

Blair loved him still.

_fin._


End file.
